


Finding Our Way

by Setting_Fire_to_the_Past



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:54:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24346834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setting_Fire_to_the_Past/pseuds/Setting_Fire_to_the_Past
Summary: 2 years after the battle of Hogwarts Harry is living alone at Grimmauld Place, unsure about his future. Draco is similarly lost. They find each other and reconnect, realizing how similar they have always been. It's my first fanfic I hope it's good. There is some non explicit kissing clothes off which I didn't really know how to rate, no full sex.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24





	1. Unlearning

**It is hard but slowly you are unlearning the shallow pant of your childhood** \- Child’s Pose, Brionne Janae

Harry woke with a gasp, hand flying to his forehead instinctively. It felt like the air was being squeezed from his lungs. He fought the urge to panic, taking slow deep breaths like Hermione had taught him. His legs were tangled in the blankets and the room felt stiflingly hot. The moon was low in the sky, bathing the room in cool blue light. Pain shot through Harry’s head causing him to half jump half fall out of bed, tripping on the tangled up blankets. He was talking to himself now, desperately trying to stay somewhat calm.

“It’s okay, it’s just a migraine, just a migraine”

He scrambled in the dark as he talked, feeling around for his glasses and the closest articles of clothing. Five minutes later he was stumbling down the stairs, praying he wouldn’t wake Kreacher. Cool night air flooded his lungs as he stood gasping on the steps to Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry dug his fingernails into his palms, focusing on the pain until his headache started to subside and his breathing slowed.

“It was just a dream, just a dream, like the thousand before”

He sank to his knees, pressing his palms against the cold stone as he trembled uncontrollably. It had been two years since the battle. Two years since moving into Grimmauld Place. He’d thought about going home, back to the Dursleys, to Dudley's old room. He’d thought about another year at Hogwarts, staying with the Weasleys maybe. Heck, even Hermione had said she’d take him. He couldn’t stand the thought of anywhere though, of anyone. No more cupboards, no empty room and covered mirrors, no absent minded muggles. He briefly considered calling Ron or Hermione, maybe even giving Ginny a call, but he couldn’t bear the thought of pretending everything was fine. They’d see through it in a second. _What do you do when you’ve fulfilled your destiny? When you never thought you’d live past 17?_

Harry had been so sure he wanted to be an auror, make a positive difference in the world. Lately though, he just felt angry all the time. _How would he know how much of his ambition was his own and how much was the piece of the soul he’d left at that train station two years prior? What do you do when you lose a piece of yourself? He was raised to be a soldier, who else could understand a destiny you never got to shape?_

Everytime he closed his eyes, tried to sleep, he saw the people dead because of him. He saw the death he should have had, once in a crib and once on the forest floor, saved both times by a mother’s love. He saw Sirius, Remus, Tonks, and Fred spread out before him. He saw Moody's eye and Hermione’s scars. He saw Voldemort falling to the floor.

He’d read studies claiming combat veterans suffer more severe PTSD from the killing of enemies than the death of their friends. Perhaps only a sliver of a soul remained, but death is death, the body fell all the same.

Harry did what he always did when his thoughts became too overwhelming, he walked. He wandered down side streets and unlit alleyways, lost in thought. He hadn’t bothered to grab shoes and the pavement pressed into his feet, leaving tiny pebbles embedded in them. Without realizing it his feet took a familiar route, leading him to one of the last places he wanted to be, King’s Cross Station.


	2. Looking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is trying to become a better person but he is haunted by his past

**He said I am looking for something**

**When I see it you will know what I am looking for** \- His Last Game, Brian Doyle

Draco woke to find scratch marks covering his arm. It looked as though a wild animal had torn through his skin leaving only its claw marks to remember it by. Draco knew better. He stared at the mark staining his skin, faded but visible. It hadn’t moved in two years but more often than not he woke to find his right hand wrapped around it, as if to strangle it. Faded scars criss crossed over it, two years worth of sleep clawing. He had thought about removing it. Perhaps with enough research a spell could be found. After all, the dark lord was gone, his magic must have faded after death. Draco had even thought about trying a muggle place, taking a laser to it, anything to get rid of it. In the end though, he never tried. He felt too guilty, he deserved this mark. It meant that no wizard would ever trust him again. 

Draco had truly believed it in the beginning. His parents lies. He had listened to their talk of blood traitors and mudbloods. Of subjugation and rightful places in society. He had been a child, surrounded by other children of death eaters. The sorting hat placed only purebloods in Slytherin, it was a bed of white supremacy and hate. However, murder is murder, and in the end, Draco could never bring himself to take a life.

After the war Draco had felt lost, he didn’t know where to go or what to do. He holed up at the manor for months, barely eating or sleeping. Finally he made a choice, if the wizarding world wouldn’t have him, the muggle world would have to. He took to people watching, sitting on trains and street corners staring at the strange assortment of people walking by. 

Eventually he discovered public libraries. The manor had a library of course. Thousands of ancient texts on magic and history, in other words, boring old junk. Draco had never seen muggle books, never read a book of fiction. He was entranced. He read fiction, history, sci fi, anything he could get his hands on. He hadn’t realized you could check out books, he’d never heard of such a thing! So every day he’d go to the library, take out a stack of random books, and just sit and read for hours, devouring book after book. 

After a couple weeks of this a librarian approached him and explained the concept of checking out books. Draco of course, had no email, no phone number or driver’s license. The next week he returned from Diagon Alley with wads of muggle cash, bought a brand new cellphone and laptop, and got his first library card. 

Half a year after the war Draco realized something, muggles weren’t below wizards, they were incredible. He was bewitched by technology. There was so much information and inventions. Muggles could travel faster than brooms in their strange vehicles. They could find information at the drop of a hat. They had created movies, computers, cellphones, they had created art. Voldemort, the death eaters, even him, they had wanted to destroy something precious. 

And yet, despite the books littering his room and the coffee shops, libraries and museums he visited, Draco still woke up with scratch marks covering his arm. The mark would not leave, he could never make up for the things he had done. 

And so, at 2am, Draco found himself sitting in an empty train station. He didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to see his parents stuck in their bubble, wasting away. He didn’t want to attempt to sleep. He didn’t want the nightmares to come, watching Dumbledore falling, the fire engulfing that room. So he sat, drifting in and out of consciousness, hoping his mind would let him sleep. 

He startled awake to a sound, footsteps, someone was approaching. 

“Who the fuck walks to a train station at 2 in the morning?” Draco mumbled to himself, rubbing his eyes and peering out into the empty station.

There was a man wandering into the station. His feet were bare, nothing but a short sleeve muggle shirt and shorts on. The moonlight illuminated his light brown skin and dark unkempt hair, light reflecting off his glasses. He was around Draco’s height, maybe slightly shorter. _It’s mid February, who goes out in a T-Shirt?_

Draco watched as the man entered the station and sank to the ground by a concrete pole. He saw the man’s shoulders rise and fall, heard the gasping shallow breaths. Draco realized what the sound was. He could feel his own chest tighten in response, fighting a wave of panic as his breath became shallower, the way it sounded when he woke up every morning. 

Draco instinctively took a step forward, then another. 

“Are you okay?”

Draco almost whispered it, so scared to be heard. _What if I’m just being the biggest asshole? Who’d want to realize some random dude is watching you cry at 2am?_ The man, or boy maybe, he seemed so vulnerable, looked up, tears streaking his cheeks, and Draco froze. 

_What beautiful eyes._


	3. Desperate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco see each other for the first time in 2 years.

**Try not to remember how desperate you’ve been for touch—yes ignore it—that hitch of your heart -** Child’s Pose, Brionne Janae

Harry snapped out of his trance to find himself at the train station, over a mile from home. The moonlight made the station seem unnaturally white and clean, reminding him far too much of the past. It was the last straw. He couldn’t handle this, not tonight. Harry collapsed, he wasn’t even trying to control his breathing any more, letting his body search desperately for air. He was surprised to feel tears welling in his eyes, it had been so long since he had cried. 

“Are you okay?”

The voice was so gentle, so soft, that for a moment Harry thought he must have imagined it.  _ Who would be at King’s Cross so late at night?  _ Then the embarrassment set in.  _ He was supposed to be the savior of the wizarding world, what was he doing breaking down in public?  _ Harry looked up slowly, trying in vain to wipe some of the tears from under his glasses. 

There was someone standing awkwardly a couple feet away, watching him. His hair was long and pale, pulled back in some elaborate braid. He was dressed appropriately and elegantly for the weather, in a long coat and boots that glinted in the faint light. He exuded strength, beauty, basically the exact opposite of what Harry felt at the moment. Harry’s eyes were too blurred with tears to make out the man’s facial features. 

“Sorry” Harry mumbled in embarrassment as he pushed himself to his feet. “Didn’t mean to disturb you” He turned to go, wincing as his bare feet hit the pavement, reminding him of the blisters starting to form. 

“Wait!” The voice was louder this time, almost pleading. It felt so familiar that Harry froze, mentally sorting through his friends,  _ did anyone he know live near here? _ Harry turned slowly to stare at the man who had stepped closer. The moonlight seemed to bathe his pale face, making his eyes glow. 

_ His silver eyes.  _

_ Oh.  _

_ It’s been so long.  _

Harry wanted to be gentle back, the way he never had before, but his words caught and twisted in his throat, turning far sharper than intended.

“What are you doing here, Malfoy? Don’t you live hours away?” He remembered the house, the basement, the chandelier. He could picture it in his mind, oh how he loathed that house. But, Malfoy had stared into these eyes, the ones he seemed to have recognized with ease two years later, and said “I can’t be sure if it’s him”. Malfoy had saved his life,  _ couldn’t he at least try to be civil? _

Malfoy was still just standing there, staring. He looked like a lost puppy and Harry started to feel confusion creep in. 

“Sorry, you’re right, I’ll get out of your way” 

Harry expected the sharpness he was used to, the taunting and sarcasm, but it didn’t come. This was a new Malfoy, an unfamiliar face. Malfoy turned to leave, presumably to apparate, and this time it was Harry who called out. 

“Wait!” 

Malfoy stopped, frozen, waiting.

“You can’t apparate so far this late at night, you’ll end up splicing or something”

Harry didn’t know what had compelled him to stop Malfoy, after all, he was a powerful wizard, capable of assessing his own limits. 

“You should come home with me, it’s late, I have a spare room you can use” Harry felt like his mouth had a mind of his own,  _ what was he doing!? Why would he offer to take home a boy who had made his life hell for years, who had betrayed Dumbledore, who had betrayed everyone?  _ Perhaps it was how vulnerable he looked standing there, like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself, or the way his silver eyes reflected the light.

“Aren’t the Weasley’s all the way in Devon, Potter?” Confusion seeped out of Malfoy’s voice but his words were sharp, he seemed unwilling to admit how soft his voice had been just moments before. This was the Malfoy Harry knew. It almost comforted Harry to recognize that slow drawl and feigned disinterest. 

“I’m not staying with the Weasley’s, there’s no one to bother you” Harry still couldn’t understand why he was doing this, he could just leave, he had no obligation to Malfoy, to anyone. “C’mon” Harry stretched out his hand to Malfoy, a clumsy attempt at a truce. He was too tired to fight, to get riled up by this game they’d played. 

“Walk with me”


	4. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry walk back to Grimmauld place together.

**You can brick up your heart as stout and tight and hard and cold and impregnable as you possibly can and down it comes in an instant -** Joyas Voladoras, Brian Doyle

Draco stared at the outstretched arm before him, an offer of new beginnings. With a shrug, Potter turned and started walking, and Draco, Draco followed. 

They walked in silence. Draco kept his eyes down, staring at his own boots and focusing on the slight tapping sound they made as they hit the sidewalk. He didn’t dare look at Potter’s face. He once again noticed Potter’s bare feet and drew the courage to speak.

“Don’t your feet hurt? You could borrow my boots if you’d like” Draco saw Potter turn and immediately regretted breaking the silence. He fumbled over his words in an attempt to save the situation. He didn’t want to lose this opportunity.

“I mean you’ve been walking for a while and it looks like my shoes would probably fit you, it’s the least I could do” _Idiot! I must look so stupid._ Red started to creep up Draco’s neck as he realized he’d definitely made the situation worse somehow.

“I’m used to it” Potter was staring straight ahead as he spoke, as if he didn’t want to acknowledge this wasn’t just some surreal dream.

“Oh” They fell back into silence. After a couple minutes Draco glanced at Potter. His face had a scruffy beard Draco hadn’t noticed earlier, it seemed more like Potter had forgotten to shave for a month than a purposeful fashion statement. He had dark bags under his eyes and his hair fell to his shoulders. It looked knotted and tangled, Draco winced just imagining running a comb through such a mess. He seemed chubbier, his face round and soft. His bangs were so long they covered his scar. Draco imagined pushing the dark hair out of Potter’s eyes so he could trace the lightning bolt, his face seemed wrong without it. He’d gotten new glasses too, they were more rectangular and seemed to fit his face better. Overall he seemed to have grown into himself. 

Draco remembered the first time he’d seen Potter, seen that scar, at Madam Malkin’s. He must have been wearing clothes three sizes too big for him. He’d looked like a malnourished kid they show on advertisements for food banks. Thinking back on it, maybe those robes were the first article of clothing ever bought just for him. It was why Draco had stupidly assumed he was staying with Ronald Weasley. He knew nothing about where Potter was raised after his parents were killed, only that he didn’t have clothes that fit him and after that first year in Diagon Alley he was always accompanied by the Weasley’s. Come to think of it, maybe Draco had never really known much about Potter at all.

Draco was so busy staring at Potter he almost bumped into him, realizing that he’d stopped in front of a block of tall old muggle houses. As Potter started walking towards the houses a new house appeared, pushing its neighbors as it expanded until it had fully materialized. Draco realized with a start that he’d been here before. It felt so strangely familiar. Perhaps with his mother years ago, although the memory eluded him for now. His suspicions were confirmed when they stepped inside the house. The Black family Crest adorned almost every surface, revealing who the house had once belonged to. 

Draco had known that the rumors of Sirius Black’s betrayal must have been false to some extent. After all, Bellatrix had bragged of her triumph over Black in battle numerous times. Still, he wondered if Potter had had a hand in his escape during their third year at Hogwarts. 

Potter led Draco up three flights of stairs, stopping at a room marked “Do not enter without the express permission of Regulus Arcturus Black”. 

“Sorry about the decor” Potter said, opening the door gingerly, “I didn’t have the heart to mess with it”. The room felt cramped and dusty, there were what looked like old newspaper clippings covering one of the walls. The rest were covered in Slytherin junk and the Black family crest. It felt like he’d been transported back to his room at Hogwarts. 

Potter started to close the door and Draco felt his chest tightening, he couldn’t sleep in a place like this. He felt so helpless, like he was 11 again, hearing the sorting hat yell out Slytherin before it had even touched his head.

“Wait” Potter turned, unwilling to look Draco in the eyes.

“Please stay, just for a bit”


	5. Waiting

**Two years later there is no other way**

**to say, we are waiting** \- Equinox, Elizabeth Alexander

Harry could have brought Malfoy to any other room in the house. Left him on a couch in the drawing room or even allowed him to squirm a bit in the room Buckbeak had once stayed which still smelled vaguely of Hippogriff, but he’d led him to Regulus’s old room, one of the few in the house he hadn’t touched. Harry slept in Sirius’s room, next door, he’d wanted to be close to Malfoy, to convince himself this was real.

He regretted it now, staring at Malfoy’s scared face and tense body. He looked like he wanted to curl up into himself, to disappear. 

“Please stay, just for a bit” It was the same voice from the train station, the gentle one Harry did not know how to respond to. Harry turned and walked to the bed, sitting awkwardly by the foot and dangling his legs off the side. He said nothing, avoiding Malfoy’s piercing gaze. He did not want to see a human Draco Malfoy. It hurt to see him look so scared, so tired, All Harry could feel was the guilt of their childhood together, of the apology and thank you he’d never given. 

They sat for several minutes in tense silence. Harry could feel Malfoy’s gaze boring into his head, could almost see his silver eyes without turning. Finally he could take no more.

“What were you doing at King’s Cross so late at night?” Harry spoke without turning, he couldn't help but feel curious about what Malfoy had been doing so far from home. Malfoy snorted in response, cutting through the unbearable tension.

“Well that’s a tad hypocritical don’t you think? What was the almighty Potter, savior of all, doing at such a suspicious time of night? Surely it is expected for me to do the sneaking, but you, never you” Malfoy was playing now, sarcasm lacing his voice, but it didn’t have the bite of their childhood.

“I asked first” Harry responded, faking indignation, “I’ll tell you if you tell me” Harry turned, looking at Malfoy as he spoke. He watched Malfoy pause, thinking over his response. His face was serious now, sad, Harry noticed the bags under his eyes and how pale and gaunt his face was, he’d missed how tired Malfoy looked, distracted by his elegant clothing and calm manner. 

Finally Malfoy spoke, avoiding Harry’s eyes, “Just couldn’t sleep is all, fancied a night stroll”. Malfoy’s right hand curled around his left arm as he spoke. He seemed to be unaware of it, so caught up in his halfhearted lie. Harry reached without thinking, placing his hand on Malfoy’s right and gently peeling up his fingers. 

“Show me?” This time it was easy to be gentle, after all, if there was one thing Harry knew about it was scars. Malfoy stood, shedding his long coat. Underneath he was wearing a white button down, crisp and sharply ironed. Harry almost ruined the moment, he desperately wanted to tease Malfoy for how much of a priss he always dressed like, but he’d never seen Malfoy so vulnerable. He was so skinny under the coat, almost skin and bones and Harry couldn’t help but wonder how often Malfoy ate. Malfoy started unbuttoning the sleeve buttons and rolling up his left sleeve, he moved carefully and slowly, like one wrong move could scare Harry off. Finally he finished, extending his arm slowly to Harry. 

Harry had never seen so many scars in one spot before. It fascinated him, the patterns of Malfoy’s skin, the fresh cuts, still red and throbbing. Harry reached out slowly, placing his hand on Malfoy’s arm. The skin was hot to the touch, Harry had always imagined Malfoy as cool, cold blooded. Now, with his hand resting on Malfoy’s arm he could feel Malfoy’s pulse, fast and rhythmic. 

“My scar was hurting,” Harry said, withdrawing his arm. “I know He’s not back, it’s just the nightmares, but it always scares me” He’d told Ron and Hermione when the nightmares hadn’t stopped, three weeks after the war was when he realized they weren’t getting better. “That’s why I was at the station, it wasn’t even on purpose I just needed to get away”

Harry’s hand felt cold now, that kind of bone chilling cold that stays with you. He stared at Malfoy, his arm still partially outstretched, at the mark under all those scars. 

“Do you remember it?” Malfoy’s voice was halting, soft, “When you got the scar I mean, what it felt like” 

Harry laughed bitterly, he’d been asked many times. He wondered if Malfoy knew, if anyone but him knew what Dumbledore had done to him. He thought about lying, about describing what he saw when dementors came too close, why he’d learned the patronus charm. 

“Do you know what it feels like to lose a piece of you that was never really yours?”


	6. Imagine

**Imagine you are not a thing that needs escaping** \- Child’s Pose, Brionne Janae

“Show me?” 

Draco didn’t ask how Potter knew he was lying. He slipped his coat off and started rolling up his sleeves without saying a word. Perhaps it was how unbearably kind Potter was being. He didn’t deserve Potter’s sympathy, his kindness. Draco wanted Potter to hate him, so he rolled up his sleeve, slowly, dreading the moment the mark would become visible. He had never shown anyone the scars, not his parents, not Pansy or Blaise. They came for tea sometimes, sitting and chatting with Narcissa while Draco refused to leave his room, to face any of them. Draco knew once Potter saw the mark he’d remember what Draco was, what he’d done. 

He stretched his arm out to Potter, turning it so the mark on his forearm was visible. He waited for the rage, the disgust, but it didn’t come. Potter stared transfixed at Draco’s arm, he stretched his own hand out slowly, placing his fingers on the scars. It felt like Draco had been electrocuted, his heartbeat quickened as Potter traced a scar. His hands were cool, nothing like Draco had imagined. He could feel his nerves standing on end as the sensation traveled through his body, stopping all rational thought, and just like that it was over. Potter removed his hand, and Draco felt like he could breathe again, he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath. 

“My scar was hurting” Potter said, his hand moving to his forehead as he spoke, “I know He’s not back, it’s just the nightmares, but it always scares me”

_ Potter had nightmares too? Had he been at the station for the same reason I was, too afraid to fall asleep?  _ Draco wanted to reach out and touch Potter’s scar, soothe the burning, but he couldn’t move, could barely speak. He thought of what to say, how to react. 

“Do you remember it?” Draco had always wondered, it had only hit him when he’d been asked to take the mark, seen his parent’s faces, he hadn’t hesitated then, he would do it again. Potter hadn’t had the option though. “When you got the scar I mean, what it felt like” 

“Do you know what it feels like to lose a piece of you that was never really yours?”

Draco sat and listened, he learned of the horcruxes, the piece of soul inside Potter, the sacrifice, everything. He noticed the hitch of Potter’s breath when he described learning what he’d been to Dumbledore, his purpose. Potter was shaking as he talked, refusing to move or look at Draco. 

It felt like they were removed from time. Although the old clock in Regulus’s room showed minutes creeping by, Draco couldn’t feel the weariness overtake his brain. He motioned to Potter, making room for him to sit on the bed by him. Draco reached out, threading his hands through Potter’s hair as he talked. He untangled knots, working through the kinks and tangles with soothing fingers as Potter continued. It was so soft, he’d expected it to be oily and neglected judging from the rest of Potter’s appearance, but it untangled easily in his hands, like it’d been waiting for it. The minutes ticked by as Draco sat, Potter had finished now but Draco was still running his hands through his hair, making tiny braids. He hummed as he worked, trying to calm Potter with a song his mother used to sing to him. 

“Draco” It was the first time Potter had called him by his name, it felt so foreign, he was supposed to be just another Malfoy, a monster, how could Potter say his name so gently? Give him identity, speak him into existence.

“Yes Harry?” Draco asked, relishing as the name slipped off his tongue, what a privilege it was. Just for tonight he would indulge in something forbidden by the things he had done.

“I’m sorry” Draco hadn’t expected that.  _ Wasn’t he the one who should be apologizing?  _ After everything he’d done Draco wouldn't have blamed Harry for attacking him, throwing him out, he’d been waiting for it, but this? This was so new? 

The clock showed 5am, Draco was vaguely aware of birdsong, of faint light coming through the windows.

“What could you ever need to be sorry for?” It was a genuine question but it soured in his mouth. Harry had always been good, always been right. He had learned he must die and accepted it in an instant, he had given everything to a world, to a man, that had abandoned him.

Harry turned, grabbing the hands that had been working on another braid, he lowered them and reached his hand out, touching the buttons of Draco’s shirt, tracing the line they made down his chest. 

_ Oh _

Draco could almost feel Harry’s skin through the weight of the buttons pressing down on his scar. He wanted Harry to tear them off, push him to the bed and touch what he’d left Draco with. He wanted Harry to ease the guilt of this kindness. 

He’d never hated him for that. He’d almost wanted it, lying there on the bathroom floor, watching blood stain the white tiles. Death meant he couldn’t betray, couldn’t kill, his parent’s couldn’t be threatened by his death. It was better for everyone that way. He’d only wished it differently when he saw Harry’s eyes. He was so good, he had always been good, Draco couldn’t be the one to force him into darkness. 

“Do you want to see it?”


	7. Together

**Someday we will be back together again.**

**We will sit in the candlelight by the West window.**

**And I will tell you how I remembered you** \- When Will I be Home, Li Shang Yin

“I’m sorry” 

Harry had been holding it on the tip of his tongue all this time. Since he’d seen Draco standing at the station, since he’d seen Draco standing by Voldemort’s side, since their eyes had met in that bathroom.  _ I’m sorry.  _ It was the one thing he truly regretted. When he’d killed Voldemort it was necessity, neither could live while the other survived. But what he’d done, there were no excuses for the pain he’d caused.

He’d replayed conversations in his head a thousand times. The apology he’d give, how Draco would respond, every way the interaction could go wrong. He’d almost looked up his number in the phone book before remembering Draco probably didn't have a phone. The one thing he couldn’t do was visit the manor, it was far too much for him. 

“What could you ever need to be sorry for?”

Draco’s voice was almost bitter, like he was insulted that Harry would act like he could make mistakes, could feel guilt. Harry had never imagined Draco could forget, could forgive. He’d replayed this conversation a million times but never with this outcome. He saw Draco’s eyes at night, clear and glassy, the blood pooling around him. It was how he’d recognized them at King’s Cross. He wanted Draco to shout and yell, to hate him the way he hated himself for what he’d done. It was what scared him most when he uttered the spell, Draco hadn’t fought back. Even as he lay there he hadn’t accused Harry, simply accepted it. However, even if Draco had truly forgotten, scars don’t lie. 

Harry turned towards Draco, quieting the hands that had been stroking through his hair. He desperately wanted to leave them, to let Draco finish his braiding and fall asleep curled up in his lap, savoring the taste of this new relationship, new name, but he knew he couldn’t. He reached forward, pressing his hands against the buttons of Draco’s shirt. He could feel Draco’s heart beating and his own heart leapt in response, red creeping up Harry’s neck. 

“Do you want to see it?”

Harry had never wanted anything more. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted anything. After the war he tried continuing things with Ginny. He felt like she was the only one who could understand what it had felt like to lose that soul. She’d been possessed by a far more powerful version of Tom Riddle than Harry had ever felt. He’d wanted her at first, or at least he thought he did. She noticed though, the way his body tensed when they kissed, the tossing and turning at night, the days he wasn’t looking at her at all. She’d been the one to break up with him, telling him she wanted him to be healthy and happy and this clearly was not that. But now, now he wanted Draco so much he could barely stand it.

“Yes” He breathed the word into Draco’s chest, withdrawing his hand and turning his body fully to face him on the bed. Harry felt like he was looking at Draco for the first time, memorizing the lines of his face, the way his hair fell, the angle of his jawline. In the end he stopped at Draco’s eyes, watching only them as Draco started to unbutton his shirt. He moved with the same slow deliberate movements, afraid to break the tension. 

Harry hadn’t exactly had time at school to think about crushes. There had been Cho of course, and Ginny, but the war felt so pressing, especially after Cedric. It was the first time he’d wanted someone, seeing Cedric before the Quidditch game. He’d seen the way Ginny and Hermione giggled, the glances at his tall frame and square jaw. He remembered Cedric watching him as they read his name from the cup, the shame and anger of seeing the way Cedric looked at him. He hurt the people he wanted, Cedric was dead because of him, how could he want someone as beautiful as Draco after all the pain he’d caused. 

“Satisfied Potter?” Harry jumped at the sound of his name, no, back to Potter again. Of course, what was Harry doing, this must be humiliating for Draco, why had he even said yes. What right did he have to drag Malfoy into his home and basically ask him to strip. He was still staring into Draco’s eyes he realized. He wrenched his eyes from Draco’s gaze, blushing as he turned guiltily to stare at the wall. He had no right to just sit here ogling at him. His eyes fell on the clock and he realized it was already 5 am. He’d kept Malfoy up with his ridiculous antics. What a mess, Draco would never want him.

“Well Harry? You said that you wanted to see it”


	8. Sweet

**If they do not soon find that which is sweet, their hearts grow cold, and they cease to be** \- Joyas Voladoras, Brian Doyle

“Yes”

Draco could feel so much longing in Harry’s voice that he froze. He could never have imagined Harry wanted him, or that he wanted Harry back. He was so close Draco could feel his breath, hot against his skin. He started to unbutton his shirt, scared Harry would realize what was happening, would regret that he’d said anything. He’d known of course, when he first saw Harry in the robe shop, that he’d wanted him. He hadn’t understood it, he was a child, nothing but a spoiled brat. He hadn’t treated Harry cruelly because he liked him though. Their relationship was not lust or love. Draco had simply demanded Harry’s friendship and Harry had refused. Draco had never been told no, he always got what he wanted. His parents had twisted his want, called Harry a blood traitor and taught him that people who disobey Malfoy’s get punished. 

The truth was Draco had been jealous of Harry. He’d never gotten to choose his own friends before. He’d known the other Slytherins since they were babies. Their parents would come over to dinner and Draco would sit obediently while they discussed His return in hushed voices. He couldn’t believe Harry got to decide who he wanted to be friends with, just like that. 

Draco finished the final button, letting his shirt hang open,“Satisfied Potter?” He realized his mistake immediately, he hadn’t meant it to be cruel but Harry jumped, turning his face to hide his eyes. _Goddamnit, just when we were getting along I had to go and mess it up!_ Draco tried to fix things, realizing Harry must be embarrassed, must have realized what he was doing.

“Well Harry? You said that you wanted to see it” Draco moved closer to Harry, watching the red creep up his neck. The braids were only half done and there was still hair covering his forehead, falling into his emerald eyes. Draco reached out to gently touch Harry’s chin, turning his face towards him. He felt Harry flinch under his touch, then calm. He brushed the hair to either side of Harry’s face, laying his hand against the scar. Harry almost felt feverish, his skin was hot to the touch and Draco felt the scar burning into him. He wanted to brush his lips against it, to kiss his face until the heat subsided, to calm Harry’s turmoil. He slipped off the bed so he could face Harry, crouching so he wouldn’t overwhelm him.

“Are you okay? Your forehead is so hot and you seem out of it. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable” 

Harry’s eyes seemed to focus, finding Draco’s. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry, didn’t mean to make you worry” 

Draco sighed with relief, heaving himself back onto the bed. 

“I can button up again if you’d like, apology accepted” Draco tried not to voice his disappointment, show how much he wanted Harry’s touch. He realized he was exhausted. It felt like all the weeks of sleepless nights were hitting him at the same time, drowning him in waves of sleepiness. 

“No, I want to, I want to give you a real apology” Draco heard the conviction in Harry’s voice, the guilt. That’s all any of this was about, just an apology, nothing more. Harry simply wanted to face what he’d done, the least Draco could do was give him that. 

Harry swung his legs back on to the bed, facing Draco. He moved towards him carefully, giving Draco time to stop him, to say no. Draco was captivated by Harry’s eyes, by the hair falling back into his face, by his soft body and scruffy beard. He wanted all of him, he was so tired, so lonely, what would it feel like to be touched? 

Harry reached out, touching the scar and tracing it down Draco’s chest. Draco could feel his heart flutter. Harry’s touch was so gentle that it felt like a dream, he never wanted it to end. Harry crawled onto Draco, legs and arms on either side of his, and kissed the scar gently. Draco could feel his body warm, aching to return the favor, to snog Harry until they were both breathless. He closed his eyes, feeling Harry kiss along his chest. Oh how sweet it felt. Could one love so much it hurt?


	9. Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I'll continue this fic let me know if people want more.

**When young we think there will come one person who will savor and sustain us always; when we are older we know this is the dream of a child** \- Joyas Voladoras, Brian Doyle

Harry felt so lost, trying to find his way out of the maze that was his mind.  _ Why had he brought Draco here, was this the way people generally apologize for almost killing them? _ He felt Draco’s hand on his face and his body reacted instinctively, screaming at him to stay alive, pay attention, this is not how a war is fought. He felt the familiar tightening of his body, the stone in his stomach and quickening heartbeat that came with intimacy, the physical uncontrollable fear of death. He wasn’t fighting a war anymore, there was no reason to be afraid, but his body didn’t seem to understand. Instead of the rising panic Harry focused on his body, on the sensation of being touched. Draco was crouching now in front of him, hand on Harry’s scar, his face filled with worry. Harry could feel himself melt into the touch until it was all he could feel, all he could think. If only they could stay like this, just for tonight, stay touching so Harry could sleep. 

Harry looked down at Draco, crouched before him, and saw the scar he had given him. He reached for it, needing to make up for harming such a body. Draco moved to the bed and Harry followed, barely hearing the words they were saying over the sound of his own heartbeat. 

Perhaps it had been the unfairness of a world that claimed he could not have everything he wanted. That there are some paradoxes that cannot be solved, that made Harry hate him, all those years ago. When he’d seen him at the robe shop he’d given Harry information, albeit in quiet a stuck up way. He had been beautiful then, for he had everything he could ever wish for but he still wanted Harry. He’d reminded Harry of Dudley or other private school rich kids. It was the moment that Draco had extended his hand at Hogwarts that Harry had hated him, not because he was offering himself to Harry, but because he was forcing Harry to choose. Thinking back on it, how good had it felt to ignore that hand, simply because Harry had never gotten a choice in his life, it was such a victory for him that he never considered the cost. Now suddenly there was a world where maybe he could have Draco and Ron and Hermione, where maybe he didn’t have to make any more choices. He had chosen to walk into those woods alone, to go to the ministry, he was tired of the choices he had made, for better or for worse. 

And so for once, Harry surrendered to his want, he surrendered to letting his body make the decisions and trust the choices they made. He felt the scar under his fingers, delighting in the slight squirm of Draco’s body just because of his touch. The scar was beautiful, it flowed down Draco’s torso, pale and raised. He pressed his lips to the top of it tasting Draco’s skin. It was sweet, he had never imagined Draco could taste that sweet. He trailed kisses down his chest and Draco let out a slight moan, arching his back in pleasure. He kissed every inch of Draco’s chest, licking and tasting as he made his way down Draco’s body, pushing aside the white button down to reach his arms. He made his way up to Draco’s neck and then his face, peppering small kisses on his cheeks and forehead. He stopped at Draco’s lips, reaching a hand out to stroke Draco’s face. 

“Hey,” Harry whispered into Draco’s mouth as his fingers moved to Draco’s hair, pushing some loose strands from Draco’s eyes. 

“Hey,” Draco said, opening his eyes to stare into Harry’s. His hands moved under Harry’s shirt as he drew out the syllables, drawing lazy patterns on Harry’s stomach.

“Are you okay with this?” Draco laughed. It was a laugh Harry had never seen before, all white teeth and wide grin. No snideness or sarcasm. “God, you’re such an idiot Potter, yes, yes, a thousand times yes” and Harry kissed him.

It was the way Draco laughed, Harry could resist no longer. How had he known Draco for nine years and never seen him truly laugh. It was such a clumsy kiss, almost a first kiss though they’d both kissed plenty of people before. Harry wanted him so badly that he almost attacked him, pushing his body against Draco as he melted into him. Their bodies tangled into each other as they fumbled at their clothes, laughing as they tried to continue kissing while simultaneously undressing. 

Harry realized his exhaustion as they kissed, the energy it took and how much sleep he needed. The sun was peeking through the window shades, illuminating Draco’s body under Harry. Harry stopped to stare, earning him a pompous little grin from Draco. His body was breathtaking, strong and sharp with light blond hair coating his chest, the scar broke through it, winding down Draco’s body. Harry wanted to continue touching him, tasting him, but he knew they both needed sleep. 

“Move over” Harry said, lying down next to Draco and shoving him lightly with his foot.

“That’s cold you know” Draco retorted, letting Harry slide his arms around him. He calmed moments later as Harry started kissing the back of his neck and working his arms around Draco’s waist. Minutes later they were fast asleep, the first night in two years without any nightmares. 


	10. Stay

**Stay, I said to my loves.**

**Each answered,**

**_Always._** \- The Promise, Jane Hirschfield

Draco woke to sun streaming through the window, lighting up the dusty room and dull colors.  _ Where was he?  _ He tried to remember what he’d done the night before, how he ended up in a strange room far from home.  _ Potter, or Harry now, he’d been with Harry, where was Harry?  _

Memories flooded him all at once, the train station, the scars.  _ They’d kissed! Him and Harry had kissed.  _ Draco touched his lips gingerly. It had felt so good, so right. Harry had been touching him and seeing him, really seeing him. They had kissed!  _ But where was Potter now? _ If only Draco hadn’t fallen asleep. If only he had stayed up watching Harry, taking in every moment. He wished he’d appreciated it more, it was surely a fluke of sleep deprivation. Potter must have fled, he must have been too embarrassed to face Draco, he should have known better.

Draco lifted his left arm, staring at the scars covering its surface. The scratches from two nights ago had faded and the swelling was starting to go down. He wondered when the last time he’d woken up without fresh cuts had been. He sat up and immediately regretted it, his head was pounding and spots swam in front of his eyes.  _ What time was it?  _ The clock said 2pm,  _ 2pm! That couldn’t be right, how long had he been sleeping?  _

Draco could feel the panic building in him, he needed to leave this house, he needed to go home. He managed to stumble out of bed and grab his shirt, buttoning it as he scanned the floor for his wand and coat. He’d apparently slept in his shoes which felt like the most uncouth thing Draco had ever allowed himself to do. His shirt was wrinkled and he realized his braid had come undone. He gave up on the ponytail band and figured he might as well give in to his embarrassment, he worried too much about his appearance anyways. 

Draco slipped out of the room and made his way down the staircase. His boots, which he’d picked out for their commanding sound and appearance, were now working against him. He winced at every clack on the old stairs as he tiptoed down them, begging that he didn’t see Potter. Draco paused at the bottom of the stairs and realized how sick he felt, he needed to get home so he could eat and lie down. 

As he reached the bottom of the stairs his stomach growled in response to the heavenly aroma wafting through the hall. Draco paused, considering his options. His house was far, and it wasn’t exactly great to apparate while sick and hungry. And Harry, would Harry be mad at him for leaving? Would Draco ever see him again? He hadn’t exactly had much luck with muggle romances. Inevitably they’d see his scars, be it the first or fiftieth date, and he’d have to explain it. He’d learned words to name his trauma, give shape to the unknown. He’d tried a therapist or two, but who would understand him? All he could say was “I was in a war, I did terrible things”, and they’d ask what war and what things and who he had hurt but Draco had no answers.

But now? He couldn't leave because of the simplest facts of them all, Harry had apologized to him but he hadn’t apologized to Harry. What was one curse compared to years of bullying? To slurs, to betrayal, to the deaths he caused. Draco may have not killed Dumbledore in the end, but hadn’t he caused his death? Hadn’t Crabbe, who’d idolized Draco for years, died because of him? 

And even if he never said sorry, he wanted so desperately to stay. Draco wanted to see Harry’s hair in the morning, the remnants of Draco’s braiding and that ridiculous beard. Draco wanted to taste Harry’s cooking, he barely ate these days but he wanted it all the same. Draco wanted to touch Harry and taste Harry. He wanted to wake up before him so he could see what he looked like when he slept. He wanted all the things that make a place home and all the love that makes a person home. Draco wanted to  _ stay.  _

And so Draco turned and followed the smell down the hallway and stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible despite the unfortunate boots. As he neared the bottom of the stairs he heard music blasting, he had only recently discovered muggle music and the song was unfamiliar. He entered the kitchen and froze, unable to fully comprehend what he was seeing. Unlike the rest of the house the kitchen had been completely remodeled. Instead of dreary gray wallpaper and candelabras the room was covered in color. Someone had painted over every inch of available wall and ceiling. The mural seemed to be depicting magical creatures. There were mermaids peering through cracks in seaweed, hippogriffs gliding along the water, thestrals and unicorns. The ceiling featured the underside of a dragon, you could even see the sunlight shining through its outstretched wings. And there, standing by the stove, in the middle of all that color, was Harry. 

He appeared not to have noticed Draco, and he was dancing. Draco stared, transfixed, at Harry’s soft body. He was moving his hips to the music, swaying as he sang along to the song. His voice wasn’t exactly broadway level, but Draco thought of Narcissa as he listened, those special songs that were just for the two of them. The ones she hummed as she taught him to cook and waltz and play the piano. Harry had tied his hair up in a tiny ponytail. It wasn’t quite long enough to lie flat so it stuck up like a pompom on the top of a child's winter hat. The braids Draco had started last night were still partially intact, peeking out of the ponytail. Harry was wearing a pink kiss the cook apron and by god did Draco want to take him up on the offer. He wished he could just stand there and stare all day. This was the life Draco had never known he wanted, bright and colorful and musical and everything that war does not allow. 

Harry turned and froze, realizing that Draco was watching him. He stopped singing and met Draco eyes and then half shouted over the music,

“ I was afraid you would leave”

Draco was silent, unsure of how to respond. He walked slowly towards Harry, savoring the way his eyes flitted between Draco’s eyes and lips. He stopped in front of Harry and wrapped his arms around his waist, enjoying the half an inch of extra height his shoes gave him. 

“I would like nothing more than to _stay_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know its been a while since I posted sry. I have a job and am getting ready for college and apartment hunting but I'll try to post more. Hope you enjoy. The mural in this chapter was painted by Luna.


	11. Burned

**I burned so long so quiet you must have wondered if I loved you back. I did, I did, I do. -** Annelyse Gelman

Harry didn’t know it was possible to wake feeling so at peace. It was well past noon and yet miraculously Draco was still beside him. Draco’s hair was splayed out around him like a halo. Harry hadn’t realized it was so long, it looked brighter in the sunlight. Harry wouldn’t have imagined Draco would grow it out like his father, but he looked nothing like Lucius lying there. All Harry remembered of Lucius’s face was sharpness, cruelty, Harry had thought Draco looked like Lucius as a child, the way he sneered and the sharpness of his face, but now, Harry saw Narcissa, heard her desperate voice in his ear. Harry would not forgive Narcissa for all she had done, after all, Voldemort had trusted her, how does one earn the trust of a murderer? And yet, Harry could believe that there are those with varying levels of choice and freedom and that to be married to a death eater left perhaps very little choice at all. 

He wondered sometimes, when he thought of the memories Dumbledore had shared with him, how easy it would have been to become Tom Riddle, how alike they were. It terrified him because he saw in Malfoy everything he could have been. He clung to Ron and Hermione because he knew that they were the ones that truly saved him. Every adult in his life had failed him, abandoned him, lied to him. If he hadn’t had such unwavering kindness, such love, could he have made the right decisions?

Now, looking at Draco, shirtless but still wearing boots of all things, scar splitting his chest, all Harry could think was that he was so glad he was alive. He had chosen to sacrifice himself but now he was reminded of how cruel that truly was because here was someone who was just learning how to love and trust and apologize sleeping in Harry’s bed and Harry wanted to be here. Harry wanted to be alive. 

Harry's thoughts turned to breakfast as he realized he was nauseous from hunger, and he started thinking of what to cook. Harry had been forced to cook for Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Dudley as a child. He had hated it then, I mean who likes cooking for someone else and only to be thrown the scraps like a dog? He’d been amazed by Hogwarts, the idea that he could eat as much as he wanted, that he didn’t have to work for his food. 

When he’d arrived at Grimmauld place Kreacher had cooked for him. Harry had realized by then how cruelly he’d treated Hermione as a child. She was right of course, house elves were slaves. He hadn't exactly learned about British slavery and colonialism in school but he’d done some reading on his own. He also started to learn about his own culture, he thought of his father as he read books on the colonialism of India and the Wizards that fled, learning to adopt English magic systems and culture, eventually shedding one caste system for another. Harry knew almost nothing of Jame's specific cultural traditions and past, he learned as much as he could by talking to the friends of his father who were still alive and researching, which Hermione helped him with. He’d given Kreacher clothing when he'd arrived at Grimmauld Place but Kreacher had stayed. Not because he liked slavery or any of the other bullshit things the wizarding world seemed obsessed with, but because this was his home, it was all Kreacher had left of his family, of Regulus. Harry had asked him, not long after, to teach him how to cook. Kreacher had refused at first and so Harry had sat every morning in the kitchen watching Kreacher, trying to learn. 

Eventually Kreacher softened when he saw Harry’s ridiculous attempts at anything besides bacon and agreed to teach him. Kreacher had only grown softer when he’d noticed the way Harry flinched when he dropped something or messed up the recipe. It took time but Harry learned how to mess up without expecting to be slapped and they both learned how to live more like roommates and less like master and servant. It was why the house had stayed almost exactly the same for these two years. Kreacher had asked Harry not to mess with anything and so Harry hadn’t. The kitchen however, was his space, the one room Kreacher allowed him to do whatever he wanted with, along with Sirius's room of course. 

Harry rose slowly, his gaze lingering on Draco’s chest and eyes and mouth and all of him really. Harry leaned over and pushed strands of hair out of Draco’s closed eyes, kissing him softly on the forehead. _How long could this last? A night, a day, a week, a year? Forever?_ Was Harry allowed to want so deeply that he could imagine a life where he woke up to Draco’s smile every morning? 

Harry wondered if Draco could love someone as imperfect as him. After all, Draco had almost scoffed at Harry’s apology, he’d refused to accept the idea that Harry could do wrong. What would he say about the weeks that Harry ignored texts and calls from everyone. About his angry outbursts and the bruises on his knuckles from punching the wall one too many times. What would Draco say when Harry woke up screaming, when he couldn’t breathe and didn’t know where he was or why someone was touching him near him there’s danger his head would scream, there’s danger. What if he hurt Draco? What if what he wanted was his childhood and home and a time before war and that’s all Draco was to him. Harry knew this line of thinking was irrational, that they were all scarred from the war. That Ginny had screamed too, on those nights after the war, after the chamber, maybe she’d never stopped screaming. Draco was not perfect, this Harry could accept, so perhaps Draco could do the same for him.

And so Harry made his way to the kitchen and started getting out the sausage and bacon and beans. He put his music on shuffle and turned it up to full volume, figuring that he was far enough from anyone to wake them up. He grabbed the apron and allowed himself to forget that this time, he was making a meal for two. A momentary stab of panic stopped him, would Draco leave while he was cooking? Hopefully if he cooked fast enough he could bring Draco breakfast in bed. Was that overkill? Were they dating now? Harry didn’t really know. For the first time he stopped to actually fully comprehend what had happened. This was the first time he’d seen Draco in two years and they’d kissed, and some other things. It didn’t even really make sense. And now, now Harry was burning with longing, and burning the bacon if he wasn’t careful. 

And so Harry cracked eggs and fried bacon, he sliced mushrooms and baked beans. This room was his sanctuary and so he sang and danced and let the colors Luna had filled his walls with banish the doubt from his head. 

And there, suddenly, standing for who knows how long, was Draco. Harry felt relief well up inside him, Draco hadn’t left! He was really here, awake in Harry’s kitchen and he was beautiful. Draco hadn’t bothered to rebraid his hair, it fell to his waist and appeared to be knotless, in sharp contrast with the fuzzball that was Harry's ponytail. All Harry could think was stay stay stay. _We are not at war, the war has passed us by and we are still here and you are here so please stay._ But all he could say was 

“I was afraid you would leave”

Harry felt Draco’s arms around him, the way his hands fell right above his butt and the way Draco pulled him close so he could feel his chest and the buttons of his shirt. Harry looked up into Draco’s silver eyes and promised himself that this moment is how he would choose to remember Draco’s eyes. Not on the floor of that bathroom, not in the enemy lines, right here, holding Harry close.

“I would like nothing more than to _stay_ ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if I should continue let me know if any of you want more.


End file.
